


build a new world for us two

by petitepeach



Series: maybe it starts now [2]
Category: SKAM (France)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Enthusiastic Consent, Fluff, IS THIS UNREALISTIC, M/M, also me: for them no, me: yes, some saucy stuff, y'all already know wtf going on
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-19
Updated: 2019-05-19
Packaged: 2020-03-08 06:23:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18888964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/petitepeach/pseuds/petitepeach
Summary: "When Lucas wakes, it's to sunlight in his eyes and warm sheets tangled around his legs."or, the morning after the night before





	build a new world for us two

**Author's Note:**

> listen. there is some wild and concerning stuff going on in SKAM fr right now, so as a coping mechanism i've written more fic.
> 
> (i may or may not have written fic instead of working on my dissertation)
> 
> title is from "middle" by dj snake asdfjk don't question my music 
> 
> this is very self-indulgent but i hope you like!!!!

**07:59**

When Lucas wakes, it’s to sunlight in his eyes and warm sheets tangled around his legs.

He blinks once, twice, lets his brain catch up to his body slowly. He’s on his front, half of his face smushed into a pillow that smells faintly of smoke and rain, the other half facing the sunlight pouring in though the window.

Lucas blinks again, and there’s an expanse of bare skin before him, pale and dotted with moles, lit up in soft yellows and golds. There’s a head turned away from him, brown hair sticking up in every possible direction. There’s an arm, thin and muscled, tapering down to a hand resting on the empty space of mattress between them.

He looks like a dream, like the softest, most indulgent daydreams Lucas used to have in his afternoon genetics class, when everything around him—the professor’s voice, the tapping of fingers against keys, the humming of the fluorescent lights—would become nothing more than a pleasant haze, and Lucas would close his eyes against the afternoon sun streaming in through the window and think about rose-tinted mornings with a nameless boy who would open his eyes, see Lucas across from him, and smile.

Lucas has never told anyone about those fantasies. Ever. But he wonders if its possible someone heard him anyway, someone who has the power to spin reality out of longing, someone who built a boy out of warmth and gentle laughter and said, _go, go find Lucas Lallemant. He’s been dreaming about you._

And Lucas doesn’t want to wake him up, he really doesn’t, but he also wants to make sure this is more than a dream, that he’s not still in his genetics class and didn’t hallucinate the last ten hours. _This is real._

His left hand goes slowly, fingers stretched out, and they land on his shoulder, curling when they reach smooth skin. The fingers travel down the shoulder, along his bicep, to his elbow, to his forearm, them down to his hand where they rest for a moment, drawing a circle against the back of it.

The hand twitches, and Lucas snatches his own back. He’s not sure what he’s expecting, maybe a small _morning_ , hopefully not a _what are you still doing here?_

The hand lifts first, but the rest of the arm follows, opening up his right side to Lucas.

“Come here,” his voice says, muffled from where it’s still pressing into the pillow, and Lucas smiles, one only he can see, as he shuffles under the arm, both of them sighing contentedly when it wraps around his back.

“It’s too early,” Eliott says roughly. He turns enough that he can bury his face into Lucas’ neck, little huffs of breath warming the skin there. “Go back to sleep.”

Lucas lets out a laugh that barely makes a sound. “I thought you said you were going to kiss me when you woke up.”

Eliott hums and kisses Lucas’ neck, kisses all the way down to his bare shoulder. “Sleep,” he gently orders.

Lucas doesn’t fight the small yawn that comes. “Okay.”

They’re both back asleep in minutes.

 

**00:42**

The walk to Eliott’s apartment from Celine’s is, in terms of distance, actually not that long. Twenty minutes, give or take, moving from one student neighbourhood to another, skirting the edge of campus. It’s not a long walk, but it feels endless the way they do it, taking slow, wandering steps through the veins of Paris, talking about everything and nothing.

It’s something about the darkness, about how strangely quiet it is despite being a Saturday night, something about the city after rainfall, something about the way Eliott looks under the streetlights, something about the way he doesn’t stop smiling at Lucas when he talks; it’s all of these things, maybe, that make Lucas feel like he can tell Eliott anything. He feels like they’ve known each other for years, not just one night.

Eliott’s arm is a comforting weight across Lucas’ shoulders the entire walk, and Lucas melts into Eliott’s side in a way that surprises even himself. He doesn’t think he’s ever acted like this before with someone, wrapping an arm around Eliott’s back, laying a hand on his chest when they stop at a streetlight, standing on his toes to whisper into his ear. It’s blatant, the way Lucas is acting, a beacon of _I want you, I want you, I want you,_ but he can’t find it in himself to care, more than anything because he thinks— _I think, I hope, I’m pretty sure_ —Eliott is with him. That they’re both neck-deep in this and the water is still rising.

_Take a deep breath._

Except. Lucas has been hurt before, when he thought he had something sure, not realizing he was being cast away until it was too late. And he barely knows Eliott but it already feels different with Eliott. It feels good with him. Lucas feels good with him, and he barely knows Eliott but he _likes_ him. He think he might like him enough to make a fool of himself, so when they finally arrive at Eliott’s front door, Lucas wants to ask.s

They climb up a winding, run-down staircase together, Eliott pulling Lucas along by the hand and Lucas wants to ask.

They make it to the top of the stairs, to a dimly lit hallway and a red door, and Eliott unlocks it and Lucas wants to ask.

Eliott is on him the second they’re inside, pressing Lucas up against the wall, holding his face in his hands, kissing him, and Lucas needs to ask.

“Hey,” he says, pushing at Eliott’s chest, “hey.” Eliott pulls away completely, but Lucas didn’t necessarily want _that_ , so he grips onto Eliott’s leather jacket, tugs him a bit closer.

“Are you alright?” Eliott asks. His eyes search Lucas’, face earnest. “Are you…how much did you have to drink?”

“No, that’s not,” Lucas shakes his head. Yeah, he isn’t stone-cold sober right now but he’s not _drunk_. “That isn’t…” He takes a breath. “I want to ask you something.”

Eliott’s face relaxes a bit, but he’s still focused, eyes intense on Lucas’ own. It’s hard for Lucas to hold them, not used to having someone’s attention like this. Especially someone like Eliott. His own gaze drifts downwards, at a loss.

“Hey,” Eliott echoes, just as gently as Lucas did. He uses his thumb and forefinger to tilt Lucas’ chin up, waits until their eyes are locked again. “We don’t have to do anything. Just because you’re here doesn’t mean that things have to happen.”

Lucas wants things to happen, though. He really, really, really wants to get Eliott naked. Wants Eliott’s hands on him, everywhere. Wants Eliott to kiss him again, and not stop. Never stop.

But—

“It’s not that I don’t want to do anything.” Lucas fights the urge to lower his head again. “I do want to do things. But I don’t just want to do things?” His voice rises up at the end like a question and he winces. _Yeah, that’s smooth, Lallemant._

Eliott smiles and shakes his head once. “I don’t…” He laughs. “I’m not sure I know what you mean.”

“Fuck. Yeah, sorry.” Lucas sighs. Eliott’s hand has moved from his chin to the side of his neck, fingertips softly brushing against the skin. “I mean I don’t just want to hook up, okay? I know we’ve only met tonight and I don’t want to be…weird, I guess, but I want more than a one-night stand, and if you want that too then that’s great, but if you don’t want that then this is getting embarrassing and I should probably go, actually—”

“Lucas.” Eliott touches their foreheads together and Lucas stops, stops talking, stops even breathing. “I want that too. I meant what I said earlier. That I wanted you to come here because I wanted to stay with you, whatever that involves. I meant it when I said I want to wake up with you. If you’re being weird, I’m being weird too,” Eliott gives a small shrug, eyes drifting up to the ceiling and back down. “Because don’t you feel like there’s this…that there’s something happening here?”

Something.

There it is again. Possibilities. _Maybe it’s starting now._

“Something,” Lucas echoes, matching smiles growing on their faces. “Yeah. I think so.”

 

**09:13**

When Lucas wakes again, there’s still sunlight shining towards his face, but it’s different. Instead of resting on a pillow he’s on something warmer, sturdier, something that’s rising and falling in small movements.

Lucas buries his face further into it, and it smells like smoke and rain and boy and there are gentle fingers at the back of his head, slowly carding through his hair.

“Hi,” Eliott murmurs into Lucas’ ear.

Lucas hums in response, stretching his legs out as he yawns, feet brushing up against Eliott’s calves.

“Hi,” he whispers back.

“You can go back to sleep if you want.” Eliott kisses his forehead, his fingers still stroking softly through Lucas’ hair.

“But you won’t?”

“Probably not.”

“Then I won’t either.”

Lucas feels more than hears Eliott laugh, his chest puffing up under Lucas’ cheek. Lucas tilts his head down to kiss him there, pulls back when he sees a purpling bruise, in the unmistakable shape of teeth.

“Oh shit,” Lucas giggles and gently prods at the bruise. “Sorry.”

“Yeah, well,” Eliott’s other hand comes into Lucas’ line of sight and keeps going, goes right for his neck and pokes down in retaliation and Lucas can’t control the shocked gasp he lets out because that _hurts_ but it’s kind of a good hurt. “I think I did you one better, so.”

“What?” Lucas squawks, pulling away from the circle of Eliott’s arms. “You _dick_ , at least the one I gave you is easy to hide!” He grabs onto a pillow and swings it down, hitting Eliott with a dull _thwap_. But Eliott is laughing, flailing his hands out to try and take the pillow from Lucas, and then Lucas is laughing too, unable to resist Eliott’s half-moon eyes and shaking shoulders. That’s all it takes for him, his next swing far too slow and far too light, making it easy for Eliott to snatch the pillow away and toss it to the foot of the bed, for Eliott to wrap his long arms around Lucas’ waist and pull him back down. Lucas lets out an _oof_ when he hits the mattress, but then Eliott is turning them onto their sides, close enough that he can rub their noses together. Their laughter has tapered off into quiet giggles; the energy in the room, so kinetic and vivid just a minute ago, softens into something hazy and rose-tinted.

Eliott slowly runs a finger down Lucas’ neck, stopping over the hickey and tracing the edges of it, the touch so light it makes Lucas shiver.

“Does it bother you?” Eliott asks quietly. “A mark like this?”

Lucas has, to the boys, made his opinions about PDA and hickeys and _those_ couples very well-known, but the thing is—

—if he’s being totally honest with himself—

“It doesn’t.” He whispers back. “Bother me.”

The smile that Eliott gives him is quiet, bashful, and brighter than sunlight.

 

**01:09**

It’s dark in Eliott’s room, the only light coming in from the single window over Eliott’s desk, muted tones of orange from the streetlights stretching across the hardwood floor, not quite able to reach the bed.

But that’s fine for Lucas. It’s fine because he and Eliott are in the dark and it’s easy like this, to wrap his arms around Eliott’s shoulders, to dig his fingernails into Eliott’s back, to gasp into Eliott’s mouth and arch into him when he attaches his mouth to Lucas’ neck and _sucks_.

They’re both down to their briefs and Eliott is surrounding him, pressing Lucas into the mattress with his weight, gripping tightly onto Lucas’ thigh where it sits at his waist, panting into Lucas’ open mouth. It’s overwhelmingly good, and all Lucas can think is _Eliott, Eliott, Eliott_. He’s the scent in the air, the skin beneath his fingers, the taste on his tongue.

Eliott grinds their hips together and he’s hard, they’re both so hard and Lucas thinks he might explode—in a real sense, possibly, a familiar heat rising up his spine alerting him to the fact that he is much, much closer than he thought.

“Eliott,” he murmurs in between one kiss and the next, the last _t_ getting caught on Eliott’s tongue.

“Lucas,” Eliott says back, delayed, an automatic response, and the word—his name—tastes so sweet on Eliott’s lips, tastes like want, tastes like Eliott is saying _Lucas_ , but he’s also saying _embrasser moi, rester avec moi._ Lucas never wants to hear anyone else say his name, ever.

He’s forgotten what he was going to say, especially when Eliott bites down on his bottom lip, then follows the motion with his tongue, soothing the hurt. Lucas moans into it, into the deep, aching kisses Eliott gives him, into the way his hands are touching him so thoroughly, _how does he only have two?_

The hand that was on Lucas’ thigh slides down, palms his hip and then keeps going, down to Lucas’ ass, gripping him tightly, practically lifting him to meet Eliott’s thrusts in a rhythm that is sloppy, desperate, but so unbelievably good.

“ _Oh_ ,” Lucas gasps, head pressing back into the mattress. Eliott dives back to his neck, kissing down the length of it to reach Lucas’ collarbone, then his chest. He times it too well, gets his mouth on one of Lucas’ nipples at the exact same moment he slips his hand down the back of Lucas’ briefs, and that’s it for Lucas.

The strength of his orgasm takes him by surprise, as do the echoing cries that come out of his mouth. He can barely remember the last time he came like that from just grinding against another guy; not since he was sixteen, when everything he did held the excitement and desperation that came with being new.

Eliott is quiet while Lucas catches his breath, lowering his hips back down to the mattress, the hand on his ass moving back to his hip. He doesn’t seem bothered to wait out Lucas’ aftershocks, and anyway Lucas doesn’t have the capacity to be embarrassed by his lack of stamina, is too blown way by how fucking _good_ it is with Eliott. His mind is going in a thousand different directions, wild with the implication how good _other things_ could be with Eliott, only then Eliott shifts against him, a small movement, but one that brings Lucas’ mind to one specific place, to where Eliott is still hard against him.

“Get on your back.” Lucas orders, ignoring the whine Eliott makes when he slips out from under his arms, turning so he can sit on his knees on the mattress.

He watches as Eliott moves, slowly, a bit gracelessly, long limbs folding and unfolding under a faint wash of light. Lucas can just make out Eliott’s eyes in the dim, how they widen when Lucas crawls up his legs until he’s level with Eliott’s crotch.

Lucas' fingers tug at the top of Eliott’s briefs, but stop there, waiting.

“Yes,” Eliott breathes. “Yes, yes. Please. Lucas.”

Lucas pulls the briefs down Eliott’s hips, down his legs, and tosses them to the side, onto the floor without a second thought, because there’s Eliott laid out before him, arms up around his head, chest heaving with deep breaths, pale skin, and protruding hip bones and—

“You’re so beautiful.” Lucas whispers and he wants to take the words back as soon as he says them, so painfully revealing in their awe, until he sees the way Eliott smiles, sees the way he ducks his chin a bit, like he’s gone shy.

So Lucas says, “You are,” again, makes sure Eliott knows he means it, and kisses Eliott’s knee that’s propped up near his shoulder. There’s a tattoo there, one he can’t quite make out, but he kisses that as well, then kisses the spot where knee meets thigh, then kisses up his inner thigh, bites down on the soft skin there, before he’s laying fully between Eliott’s legs, pressing his face into the crease of Eliott’s hip.

“Oh _fuck_ ,” Eliott groans and Lucas glances up, sees Eliott staring back at him with a look on his face like he’s about to die, but he’s happy about it. “Just so you know, I’m going to come in like, five seconds.”

Lucas laughs, and drops a kiss onto Eliott’s stomach.

 

**10:46**

Lucas hears the floorboards outside of Eliott’s door creak, hears the sound of a bathroom door closing and is grudgingly reminded that the outside world still exists, that while Lucas may be lost in white sheets and soft skin, he knows that time can only stretch itself out for so long before it has to nudge you and say, _I’m sorry but I have to go._

“That must be Sofiane,” Eliott says, voice muffled from where his face is pressed into Lucas’ stomach. “Idriss is never up before noon on a Sunday.”

Lucas is propped up against Eliott’s headboard, eyes dancing around Eliott’s room while his hands gently pet him, one in his hair and one trailing across his shoulders and down his back. He doesn’t think there’s been a moment since they first woke up where they haven’t been touching.

He takes in details of Eliott’s room, things he wasn’t able to see in last night’s darkness. There’s a smattering of drawings taped onto the wall, a stack of canvases in a corner, a small bookshelf with shelves bowing under the weight of textbooks and paperbacks, an ash tray on the windowsill filled with cigarette stubs. He wants to see more, though. Wants to flip through Eliott’s books, browse through his canvases, opens his drawers, learn his secrets.

 _I want to know you_ , he thinks. And, _I think I want you to know me._

He draws a finger down Eliott’s nose and laughs when Eliott tries to bite it, snatching his hand back. On the bedside table, Lucas’ phone buzzes four times in quick succession but he ignores it. _Not yet._

“How long have you lived with them?” He asks. “Idriss and Sofiane.”

“Not long. Only a few months. I was with my parents for a long time.” Eliott purses his lips, seems to consider his next words carefully. “There were some things I was going through, some things I needed help with. With their help I got those things figured out. Or,” Eliott’s eyes drift over to the wall, to the drawings there, “figured out enough that I can live on my own.”

Lucas wants to press, wants to ask what Eliott needed help with, but he doesn’t. He thinks of what Eliott said the night before—

_None of it makes you less of a person or makes you less worthy of love. Trust me, I’d know._

—and he thinks that that, really, Eliott has told him so much already, has been so willing to open up bits of himself for Lucas to see.

He doesn’t ask. Instead, he bends down enough that he can kiss Eliott. The angle is awkward at first, the pressure chaste, but Eliott arches up into the contact, tilting his head to the side to slot their lips together, deepening it.

A loud bang on Eliott’s door jolts them both out of the kiss.

“Yo!” Despite it being before noon, it sounds like Idriss. “Team brunch at Imane’s place at one!” There’s a pause. “Lucas, if you’re still in there, you’re coming too.”

Lucas barks out a laugh, belatedly clapping a hand over his mouth.

“I fucking _knew_ it!”

Sofiane’s voice trails over. “Idriss, leave them alone, what the hell.” There’s a scuffle, like he’s trying to wrestle him away. “We’re going to get coffee now,” Sofiane yells. “And we’ll be back in an _hour_.” There’s extra weight added to the last word. Extremely unnecessary emphasis, in Lucas’ opinion.

Idriss is cackling, the sound fading as he and Sofiane leave. There’s a pause of only a few seconds, then Lucas can hear apartment door open and close, their voices disappearing completely.

Eliott tugs Lucas’ hand down from his mouth and kisses the palm.

“Well?” He asks. “Feel like taking a shower?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Feel like taking a shower together?”

“Yeah,” Lucas says again, pulling gently on Eliott’s hair with his free hand, “sure.”

Eliott bounds up from the bed with a speed that is clearly too ambitious for him before eleven in the morning, because he promptly trips and nearly goes careening into the ground, arms pinwheeling to try and keep his balance.

Lucas bursts into laughter, rolling onto his stomach on the bed.

“You’re like a baby giraffe,” he teases, propping his head onto a hand as he watches Eliott riffle through his dresser. “Or a baby deer. Oh no, wait, I forgot that you’re actually a badger.”

Eliott pulls a towel out of the dresser and throws it, hitting Lucas in the face. “It’s a raccoon and you know it.”

Lucas folds the towel in his arms and flops onto his back. “Hm, isn’t the whole point of art that anyone can have their own interpretation of it?”

“You little shit.” Eliott grips onto Lucas’ ankles, and Lucas has no time to react before he’s being dragged to the edge of the mattress.

“ _Eliott!_ ” He shrieks, squirming against Eliott as he slides one arm under Lucas’ knees and one around his back, lifting him.

“I’ll show you artistic interpretation,” Eliott growls, managing to get his bedroom door open with one hand and carrying Lucas into the hallway, their combined laughter spilling out into the empty apartment along with the spare sunlight they were keeping to themselves, washing bright gold and blushing pink over every white wall, every grey corner.

 

**01:50**

Lucas picks up a pencil sketch from Eliott’s desk carefully, around the edges, worried about smudging the lines with clumsy fingers. He wonders if he should have asked before looking, wonders if the pieces Eliott keeps in his room are far more private than the ones that sit in galleries.

Lucas can’t imagine doing something like that, transferring a piece of yourself onto a canvas and hanging it up for the world to see, to judge.

It’s brave, he thinks.

The drawing in his hand is simple, almost cartoonish, with an animal of some sort sitting on the moon, it’s feet dangling off the edge. There’s an asteroid shooting past it, and the earth in the bottom corner, but other than that there’s nothing—just the animal and space.

“I always thought it would be nice to be able to go sit on the moon.”

If Eliott hadn’t spoken, Lucas wouldn’t even have known he had re-entered the room, his steps light and tentative across the hardwood floor, the door shutting quietly behind him. There’s the sound of two glasses being set down, then the footsteps come closer.

“Is this supposed to be you?” Lucas asks without looking away from the drawing. “This…badger?”

“Badger?” Eliott’s voice rises with indignation, the boy himself coming up to Lucas’ side and jabbing a finger into the page. “This is a raccoon. Not a badger.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Lucas giggles, “a raccoon, of course.”

“You have no appreciation for fine art,” Eliott scoffs. Standing there with his hair mussed, his eyes low and hooded, his sweatpants hanging low on his hips, he looks like something that stepped out of one of Lucas’ recurring dreams, both otherworldly and achingly familiar. Lucas can feel the warmth radiating off of his bare skin and involuntarily sways closer to it.

He licks his lips, drags his eyes away from Eliott’s chest and abs and hip bones, returns to the drawing.

“Why do you see yourself as a raccoon?”

“They’re cool. They are!” He argues at Lucas’ inelegant snort. “They wear masks.”

“Right, okay.” Lucas fingers a corner of the page, debates his next question. “Why do you want to go sit on the moon?” His gaze rises to the window as he says it, to where a crescent-shaped moon is suspended in the late-night sky.

“I just think about it sometimes. How quiet it would be. Peaceful. Don’t you think so?”

Lucas shrugs. “I guess, but it…” He bites his bottom lip and looks back down at the drawing, at the little raccoon Eliott sitting amongst the stars. “It seems lonely to me.”

“Alone doesn’t always mean lonely.”

“But sometimes it does.”

There’s a beat of silence between the two boys, one where Lucas considers apologizing, considers saying _you know what? Forget I said that. I don’t know what you need or what loneliness looks like to you, I think I’m just projecting because I never want to be alone like that, not ever—_

There’s a hand at Lucas’ side, grasping onto the edge of the desk near his hip and then there’s a solid body pressing against his back, that same tempting heat seeping into his skin, through the soft, worn t-shirt Eliott leant him. He rests his head on Lucas’ shoulder to stare down at the drawing too, his hair tickling Lucas’ neck.

“Are you going to come with me, then?” Eliott’s voice is soft in Lucas’ ear, a honey-tinged rumble that almost makes Lucas’ knees give out. “Is there a Lucas in this world,” he gently taps the paper, “that goes to sit with this Eliott?”

“Maybe,” Lucas says, hands tightening on the drawing as Eliott comes even closer, pressing Lucas’ body against the edge of the desk. He’s surrounding Lucas like this, arms caging him in, head on his shoulder, breath on the side of his face. The paper crinkles under Lucas’ grip. “Maybe there is. But,” he turns his head slightly to the side, lips nearly brushing Eliott’s cheek when he does, “what would he look like?”

Eliott pulls his head back, stares down at Lucas with a furrowed brow.

“If you had to draw me,” Lucas clarifies, “how would you do it?”

Eliott’s eyes roam across Lucas’ face, the two of them still pressed tightly together, the edge of the desk digging into Lucas’ waist.

“I don’t know,” Eliott says eventually, gaze resting on Lucas’ lips. “I’ll have to think about it.”

“Oh yeah?”

Eliott nods and he’s moving his head back down, burying his face in Lucas’ neck, kissing the skin there. “It’ll have to be something cute.”

An offended laugh bursts out of Lucas. “ _Cute?_ Don’t you mean something…mysterious? Dangerous?”

“Mhm,” Eliott hums distractedly, the hand that was on the desk now wandering up Lucas’ side, the other one pulling at the gaping neck of his t-shirt. “All of those things,” he says, lips moving against Lucas’ now bare shoulder. “But mainly cute. So cute I could just…”

“Just what?” Lucas asks on a gasp when Eliott bites down on a particularly sensitive spot where his neck meets his shoulder. He barely even knows what they’re talking about anymore, and it doesn’t matter, it doesn’t even matter because Eliott’s now teasing at the bottom of his t-shirt, fingers skirting where it meets the tops of Lucas’ thighs, where it hangs a little long on his frame. “Just what?” He prompts when Eliott doesn’t say anything, hands creeping under the edge the shirt to tease at the waistband of Lucas’ borrowed briefs.

“Devour you,” Eliott says, low and rough, right into Lucas’ ear and Lucas almost wishes he didn’t ask because that, the implication of _that_ makes him moan, makes him arch back into Eliott’s hands.

“Yeah?” Lucas asks stupidly, breathlessly.

“Yeah. I want…” Eliott’s hands slip inside the briefs, grip onto Lucas’ hips and tug him backwards, far enough that Lucas has to plant his hands on the desk, body bent over. “I want to…”

Lucas has started panting without realizing it, fingernails scratching against the wood of the desk. His entire body feels like it’s on fire and Eliott hasn’t even done anything yet.

He hears Eliott shift behind him, looks over his shoulder and _oh fucking God_ Eliott is lowering onto his knees, pressing a lingering kiss onto Lucas’ spine through his t-shirt on the way down.

“Eliott,” Lucas says, half delirious with how turned on he is, “you better be about to do what I think you’re about to do.”

Slowly, so slowly that Lucas shakes a bit, Eliott pulls Lucas' briefs off, his fingers trailing down Lucas’ bare skin, setting fires in their wake.

“I want to taste you,” Eliott says, plainly, clearly, his voice echoing in the dark, still room. “Can I?”

“Fuck,” Lucas breathes, his head dipping low, almost touching the surface of the desk, wondering when straightforward statements became such a turn-on for him.

Eliott bites at the back of his thigh. “Can I?”

“You fucking _better_ ,” Lucas manages to blurt out, and that’s the last thing he can say, the last thing that comes out of his mouth before Eliott rucks his t-shirt up his back, before Eliott splays his huge hands over his ass, before Eliott’s mouth is finally on him, taking him apart piece by piece, before the only word Lucas can remember is Eliott’s name.

 

**11:31**

“Don’t you think it’s weird that we didn’t meet until last night?”

Lucas is sitting up on Eliott’s kitchen counter, heels kicking at the cabinet underneath them, sporadically matching the beat of the shitty electronic song blaring from Eliott’s phone, a stark contrast from the lazy Sunday morning yawning at them from the kitchen window.

“Maybe not,” Eliott is saying from where he’s buried in one of the shelves, trying to find the tea he told Lucas he definitely had when they got out of the shower, when he gave Lucas another pair of underwear and a sweatshirt to wear—a grey one, soft and big enough that Lucas has to roll the sleeves to his wrists—after Lucas realized the shirt he was wearing last night now smells of beer and vodka.

Eliott sighs and steps back, glaring into the shelf where Lucas can see a metric ton of spices, a bag of flour, and sugar, but absolutely no tea. “I mean,” he shrugs, eyes darting over to Lucas, then back to the shelf. “I tend to keep to myself, so.”

“Okay,” Lucas nods easily. “That’s hardly a bad thing. I just find it a bit strange. I mean, you’re Idriss’s best friend, and I’ve known him for months. How did I never see you on his Instagram, or anything?”

Another shrug. “My Instagram is private.”

“Do you not want any photos of yourself online?”

“No,” Eliott says at length, returning the spices he moved for his fruitless search back to the shelf. “It’s not that.” He pauses, and Lucas waits him out quietly, patiently. “Remember when I said I had a hard time a while ago? That I had stuff to figure out?”

Lucas nods.

“I deleted all of my social media at that time. I didn’t want to be…seen by anyone. And I’m just getting back into it now, but,” one last shrug, a small one, where his shoulders stay hunched, “I guess I'm nervous. I have to get used to it again.”

“Alright, I understand.”

“I’m sorry,” Eliott says abruptly. “I keep telling you these things, keep dumping them onto you when we’re practically strangers. I don’t know why.”

“Hey,” Lucas interrupts him gently. “If you remember, when we met last night you learned some private things about me as well. I don’t think we’re strangers, do you?” He doesn’t even mean it in a suggestive way. He thinks back to their conversations under the cover of darkness, to bare honesty and whispered confessions.

He remembers what he thought earlier, thinks _fuck it_ , says it: “I want to know you.”

Eliott stops. Turns his entire body to face Lucas.

Lucas feels his face warm, feels his chest tightening, but he keeps going, because he doesn't know what he did to deserve this, to deserve _Eliott_ , but he wants it for as long as he can have it. He wants whatever Eliott is willing to give him.

( _Maybe_ , a voice says in his head, _maybe this time it's going to be different_.)

“I really do. So, whatever you want to tell me, I want to hear it, okay? I feel like I’ve been holding back telling you everything, absolutely everything about me because that’s what I want to do. Because that’s how easy it is to talk to you. Because that’s how sure I am that I want this to be something serious.”

Eliott’s eyes feel like a physical caress on Lucas’ skin. “Something serious.”

“Yeah,” Lucas huffs. “Honestly, I’ve hardly been subtle about it.”

“I know we talked about it earlier, but I…” Lucas can see Eliott’s nervous swallow even from how far away he is. “I wanted to make sure. I like knowing for sure.”

“Well,” it’s Lucas’ turn to shrug now, a motion aimed at playing off the weight of words with it’s casualness, offsetting the rapid beat of his heart, “now you can be sure.”

Eliott smiles and in two strides he’s there, moving between Lucas’ knees and hugging his arms around Lucas’ waist, burying his face in his neck. Lucas’ arms go to Eliott’s shoulders and hold him there, letting out a breath he hadn’t even known he was holding.

He moves his hands to Eliott’s jaw, tilts his head up and kisses him. Eliott groans softly against Lucas’ lips, pulling Lucas closer to the edge of the counter.

The position reminds Lucas of their time in Celine’s bathroom at the party, but it’s also vastly different than that, the kisses languid and deep rather than frantic and biting.

Lucas can’t believe everything that has happened between then and now. Can’t believe how much has changed from when he first bumped into Eliott, first felt those hands holding him.

They both miss the sound of the front door opening, but definitely do not miss the yelling that starts when Idriss enters the kitchen.

“Oh, hell no! Come on guys, not in the _kitchen_!” Idriss is staring at them like a scandalized aunt, the hand that isn’t clutching a takeaway coffee pressed to his chest. “Is nothing sacred to you?”

Lucas’ laugh has a hysterical note to it, Eliott smothering his own giggles into Lucas’ shoulder.

Sofiane enters the kitchen behind Idriss, a tray with three cups in his hand. “You’re only getting your coffees,” he says pleasantly, “if you step away from any and all communal surfaces.”

Lucas jumps down from the counter, immediately stepping towards Sofiane and making grabby hands for the coffee.

“That’s what I thought,” Sofiane laughs, handing Lucas two cups from the tray.

“Thank you,” Lucas says, and means it more than he’s ever meant anything, cradling the warm cups close to his chest.

“I knew you’d need it. We got back at…what, two-thirty? And I think you guys were still up.”

Idriss shimmies his hips, a shit-eating grin on his face. “Yeah they were.”

Lucas makes a face at Idriss and is in the process of flipping him off when Eliott comes up behind him, reaching for his coffee with one hand and caressing Lucas’ lower back with the other.

“Thanks, Sofi,” he sing-songs, taking a long swig from the cup. “When are we leaving?”

Sofiane shrugs. “One hour?”

“You two better not sneak away to make out until then.”

“Fuck _off_ , Idriss.”

“No, seriously. It’s Sunday morning, which means it’s TV time.” Idriss turns on his heel and heads for the living room. “I’m putting on Sailor Moon and you clowns are joining me.”

The three of them left in the kitchen all share a glance, then follow after him without a word.

Their living room is a mismatched affair, with a shag carpet, a mahogany coffee table, a mustard-coloured overstuffed armchair, a pale green sofa and two bean bags in the corner.

Eliott goes right for the sofa, sitting down in the corner and propping his feet up on the coffee table. He holds and arm out to Lucas, softly says, “Come here,” and Lucas goes willingly, tucking himself into Eliott’s side, turning his face into Eliott’s shoulder to hide the small, uncontrollable smile that comes when Eliott wraps his arm around him and presses a kiss to the top of Lucas’ head.

“Okay, y’all are cute, we get it.” Idriss grumbles, pulling a bean bag over and plopping into it, pressing his head back into the edge of sofa. “Can’t believe Eliott comes with us to one party and lands Lucas, while I’m still out here in the trenches.” He mutters this mostly to himself, turning up the volume on the TV as the Sailor Moon theme song starts.

“You’ll find something soon, Idriss,” Lucas stretches out a leg to gently kick at Idriss’s shoulder until he swats Lucas away. “Something good, with a really lucky girl who right now is wondering when she’ll find the same thing.”

“Whatever,” Idriss says, but he’s smiling.

“Something?” Eliott whispers into Lucas’ hair, tightening his arm around his shoulders.

Lucas turns his head to meet his eyes. “Yeah,” he whispers back, drawing a fingertip down Eliott’s nose. “Something.”

 

**03:03**

Lucas breaks away from Eliott’s lips on a yawn. “We need to go to sleep,” he murmurs. His eyes are blurry. He’s so tired.

“Don’t want to,” Eliott yawns back at him, pressing his mouth to Lucas’ throat. “Want to kiss you all night.”

“You pretty much have,” Lucas points out, then giggles for no reason at all other than the fact that they’ve been kissing pretty much all night and that's pretty awesome.

He says as much to Eliott, and he laughs too and they’re both giggling quietly under the sheets like kids at a sleepover, still under the watchful eye of the crescent moon, still basking in the artificial glow of streetlights.

“Sleep,” Lucas says with as much force as he can muster. He turns onto his side, pulling the sheets higher up his body. “Kiss me in the morning.”

Eliott follows him, wrapping Lucas up his arms and pulling him back to his chest. “I will,” he whispers into the back of Lucas’ neck. “I’m gonna do that.”

Lucas yawns again. “Okay.” He’s so tired. He’s so happy.

“Okay.”

Outside, the moon begins to fall. Just starts to.

Maybe there’s a raccoon out there, watching the stars and enjoying the quiet.

Maybe the raccoon’s not alone.

Maybe, maybe, maybe.

**Author's Note:**

> as always, thank you for reading <3 
> 
> and thank you for all the gorgeous comments you guys have left on my last two works :')))))))))
> 
> ALSO i now have a tumblr, if anyone wants to cry with me [@lepetitepeach](https://lepetitepeach.tumblr.com)


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